Remembering is Painful
by KarnerLacewing
Summary: Sherlock Holmes just wants to solve another case, but an old, painful memory resurfaces and he doesn't know how to handle his overload of emotions. Can John Watson help his friend through his hidden pain?


**~This is my first shot writing anything for Sherlock. He is way smarter than I could ever hope to be so don't hate me if Sherlock isn't written perfectly, because let's be honest, he's not an easy bloke to write for. Thanks for reading and any reviews would be lovely! :)~**

"Sherlock!"

With a heavy sigh, Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, pulling himself out of the depths of his own mind, and focused a glare at the man in front of him. "Really, John, there's no need to shout, do use your indoor voice," before John Watson could say anything, Sherlock continued, "However, you seem a bit tired and tiffed with me, so I'm going to assume you've said my name several times before you decided to obnoxiously pull me out of my thoughts by yelling, and you wouldn't do that if it weren't important, so what is it?"

John let out a small, slightly irritated sigh that anyone but Sherlock wouldn't take any notice to. It was an action that John did often to let Sherlock know that he wasn't in the mood for Sherlock to be...well, himself. "Lestrade just called. Said he needed you to talk to the only witness in some murder case. He said it was important and that he would explain more when we get there."

Sherlock scoffed. "No. Ridiculous. I swear, Lestrade would be lost without me! You'd think that he could handle something as simple as questioning a witness! I mean, he was trained to do these things, wasn't he?"

"Sherlock, he said she asked for you specifically. Won't say a word to anyone but Sherlock Holmes," John said, stopping Sherlock from an undoubtedly long rant about police ignorance.

Sherlock rose an eyebrow. "Now that is interesting..." He thought it over for a moment before jumping off of the couch and putting on his coat and scarf. "Right, then! Mustn't waste any more time! Coming?" Without another word, Sherlock exited their home, and flagged down a taxi.

* * *

"It's about time you got here."

"Lestrade, you should just be happy that I'm even here, so don't push it. Now, tell me why this case is so important that you had to bring me in to do one of your most typical and simple jobs." Sherlock stared at Lestrade expectantly, waiting to get the information. Everyone was so much slower than he was...it was an inconvenience, really.

"The victim is Julian Morris, he's a pretty well-known political consultant, though his reputation isn't the best, and he has a lot of enemies, he was still a very important man, and now he's dead, and there is only one witness," as Lestrade spoke, they made their way to the interrogation room, where Donovan was already standing outside of.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked as he looked at the woman in the room through the observation window. She seemed familiar...an older, broken version of a memory he forced himself to forget. She was skinny, her occasional twitch and her sunken-in cheeks showed that was partially caused from drug used, but he had a feeling the drugs were mostly to cope with hunger, since she was obviously not very well-off financially. She had simple clothing, a tube-top and a mini skirt that, judging by the obvious sloppy stitching and hemming, she made herself out of older clothing. Her posture and the way she kept her arms crossed defensively told him she may have experienced many years of abuse, so it's possible she came from a broken home and had an unstable childhood. Her hair was unnaturally blood red, in loose, messy curls that spilled over her shoulders and framed her thin face and neck. Sherlock was sure he'd never seen this girl before, but she was definitely familiar... Of course, Sherlock observed all of this in the split second between his question and Lestrade's answer.

"Well, she's a prostitute. She goes by the name 'Duchess', however her real name is Anastasia Bradshaw."

Once Lestrade said her name, something clicked in Sherlock's mind, and his eyes widened. "Oh, no, Ani, no," he said quietly to himself, staring at the woman in the room.

"So how do you know a prostitute? I mean, she asked for you, you must know her," Donovan said, "Bet she took your virginity, huh, Freak?" She sounded amused.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, his voice firm and angry. Donovan wasn't expecting that from him at all, and didn't say anything until Sherlock was in the interrogation room.

"What's up with the Freak?"she asked.

"Maybe he's sick of you calling him a freak," John said, "I got sick of it a long time ago." Thankfully, Donovan didn't say anything after that.

* * *

"Well lookie here, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock calmly sat down across from Anastasia, and he looked at her with pitiful eyes. For once, he wasn't making any observations, he just looked at her.

"Remember me?" she chuckled dryly, no sign of any actual amusement on her face, not for many years. The slight lines on her face showed more neutral or angry expressions than happy ones. "I bet you don't. You never remember anything that's not 'important'," she used air quotes as she said the word "important."

"Ani..." Sherlock's tone was soft and low, sounding more sad and disappointed than he would have liked.

The woman rolled her eyes and bit her inner cheek in anger. "Don't call me that. You can't be gone for so many years and call me that like you never left!" She was trembling, trying to hold back her emotions. Sherlock could tell from her voice that she was on the verge of breaking down.

Sherlock stayed calm, and made sure she was finished before he spoke. "What would you rather me call you, then?" he asked, "Duchess?" The disgust in his voice was thick as he spat her hooker name, which she probably chose because of the Duchess Anastasia Rominov. Clever. Sherlock found himself getting more emotional, which he hated. Emotions only got in the way.

"Don't you like it?" Anastasia asked sweetly. Then, after a pause, she said plainly, "You're the reason I'm like this, Sherlock."

"Now is not the time for that conversation," Sherlock said quickly, knowing that John, Lestrade, and Donovan were out there, listening. "I'm here to question you about this murder."

"No, now is the fucking perfect time for this, Sherlock! You need to know that what happened really fucked me up!" Anastasia's voice cracked, and tears were in her eyes. "Do you remember, Sherlock? When we were little?" her voice was softer now, less hostile, and she looked down at the table rather than Sherlock.

"I don't remember much from my childhood, I've deleted it. I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, obviously it was insignificant-"

"Insignificant? Or painful? you've deleted anything that has to do with me besides my name, apparently," Ani sighed. "I read that blog about you. I quite enjoy it. The man that writes it obviously admires you. One thing I just couldn't grasp, though, was that the person who once helped me with my model of the solar system for school didn't know that the earth orbits the sun."

"Sherlock sighed. "Like I said, insignificant information-"

"I don't think so. I think you just can't stand to have any information in your head that you could link to me." The two stared at each other for a long moment, then, Ani spoke again. "I'm not answering your questions until you answer mine."

Sherlock's lip twitched in irritation. He was usually the one calling the shots, and he was never good at taking orders, but, he didn't seem to have any choice. "Fine. Ask your questions."

Ani seemed satisfied , and she leaned back in her chair. "Remember when you were seven and I was five? Your brother Mycroft was fourteen,"

"I told you, I don't remember-"

Anastasia didn't let him finish, she just continued loudly over him, "Our parents were spending the evening out together, and Mycroft was left to watch us, and make sure that we ate and bathed before bed."

"So? That's not exactly an unusual thing-"

Again, Ani interrupted him. "After dinner Mycroft drew a bath, and told us both to get it. Said it was quicker than us bathing separately. We were young, we didn't see a problem with it, but once we were naked and in the tub, Mycroft got this funny look on his face while he watched us...then he left and came back with his video camera." Anastasia paused when she saw something finally click in Sherlock's mind. "Ah, now you remember, don't you?"

"...Yes..." Sherlock admitted.

"What he made us do-?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock stood, and looked at her firmly. "I refuse to talk about this any longer, if you're not going to say anything of use pertaining to the murder you witnessed then I'm afraid we're done here." Without listening to anything else she had to say, Sherlock swiftly left the interrogation room.

"What the hell was that, Holmes?" Lestrade started.

"Leave me alone!" Sherlock snapped, and left the building as quickly as possible. He heard John call after him, but he ignored his blogger. He had to pay a visit to the one man he didn't want to see...his brother, Mycroft.

* * *

John was left feeling confused and wanting answers to the many questions he had. Lestrade was angry that Sherlock had left, and Donovan was making jokes at Sherlock's expense. John had enough when she said, "Huh, guess he really _did_ lose his virginity to her."

"Are you serious?!" John snapped, "I mean, if that really is what happened, how could you make a joke about something like that?! That's messed up, Donovan." Jesus, for all she knew that could be the reason he is the way he is, and this poor girl... she was obviously damaged because f it. "Maybe I could talk to her, and get you the answers you need, okay?" Lestrade didn't really have many options, and John was good with people, so he allowed the ex-military doctor into the interrogation room.

* * *

"Hello, Miss Bradshaw," John said in a pleasant tone as he sat across from her. "My name is-"

"You're not Sherlock." Ani said, cutting him off.

"Uh, well, no-"

"And you're not a police officer. So what the fuck are you doing here?" Ani's tone wasn't angry or hostile, but rather intrigued. It was weird hearing such an innocently curious voice use such profanity. Ani looked John in the eyes with the same look that Sherlock gave, the one that said, "I can see through all your bullshit so just be honest so it's easier for the both of us"

John sighed. "Well, I told Lestrade that I was going to try to question you as a witness to the murder."

"But...?"

"But my best friend just left looking very upset and I want to know why. I've never seen him like that."

Ani looked John over and smiled. "So you're him. It's nice to finally meet you."

John was confused. "What?"

"You're him. The blogger. The one who writes about Sherlock."

John blinked. "How did you know that? I didn't even tell you my name."

"Because I can see it. How much you care about him. It's in your eyes when you mention him, and it's in your words when you write about him. You admire him, and you should." John didn't know what to say, so Ani continued, "He cares about you too. He had the same look you have when I mentioned you. you guys belong together."

John was sick of hearing things like that. "I'm not gay-"

"I didn't say you were. You don't have to be romantic or sexual with someone to love them."

John was stunned for a moment. Everyone always assumed that he and Sherlock were romantic. She was the first person that could see his love for Sherlock was platonic.

"Sherlock is lucky to have you. It's easier to deal with pain when you have people around you that love you...or so I've heard." John looked at Anastasia pitifully as she started crying. "I hate what I am. It's not fair! He becomes a fucking famous detective with people that love him and I have to be _this_!" The disgust that she had for herself was apparent in her tone.

"So why do you do it?" John asked curiously. Every hooker had their own story, after all.

Ani looked at John sadly. "I was forced to do this. Sleep with important men when my boss needed to make an ally.

"Who is your boss?" John asked.

Anastasia frowned and bit her lib before finally saying, "Mycroft Holmes."


End file.
